


Subnivean Oblivion

by Luminupiter



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canada, Hate to Love, Love/Hate, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Slow Burn, Snow, Survival, dead fandom here i am, eventually, fucking take that burn, i have 2 subscribers that i am going to disappoint™️ with this fic, im like ten years late, oh well, snowy shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-11-28 00:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18201056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luminupiter/pseuds/Luminupiter
Summary: There’s turmoil in Ikebukuro, aside from the usual skirmishes of archenemies Orihara Izaya and Heiwajima Shizuo. Multiple distinguished people go missing within a month, and it’s no surprise that Izaya quickly gets involved. However, when his investigation goes south, he ends up drugged, and upon waking up, he's stranded in the snowy mountains of Western Canada. Though the most irritating part—he's there with the only human he doesn’t love.Shizuo.Between trying to kill each other with doors and plates, wolves struggling desperately to eat Izaya's ass (or so he says), and a kid with a gun and a pledge to murder Shizuo, neither of them are enjoying their time. The only thing they seem to have in common is how bad everything is going, on top of their mutual hatred; which may be enough to get them to cooperate to survive. If not, the evil running rampant in Ikebukuro will destroy the city and its residents, while they'll still  be stuck infucking Canada.





	Subnivean Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> hello!  
> this is my first official fic, so please bear with me.  
> i know this fandom is (maybe?) dead, but oh well, whoever is still here, i hope you enjoy the fic!  
> this is just the prologue, and i didn't plan for it to be this long, but it just happened, you know? if it's a bit of a drag then i'm sorry, but the rest of the story won't drag, so don't be deterred!  
> this story is probably going to be long, i have a lot planned for it, but that's alright :)  
> okay, bon appetit!!

 

###    
_Izaya_

A string of missing persons in Ikebukuro. A police force that won’t tell the public anything about it. A mafia group on the rise for power.

These missing persons weren’t just normal people—they were successful business owners, leaders of high-ranking gangs, the top dogs of Ikebukuro.

More than 40 people of status had disappeared, and probably more yet to be reported.

As Orihara Izaya sashayed down a sidewalk in that lovely city, he was beginning to feel a bit neglected.

He was leaving a police station with this knowledge, flipping through 30 different reports of missing people who had disappeared in just the past month. When he had approached the police about the situation, they refused to tell him anything, even when he offered cash compensation. So, when he left, Izaya ended up borrowing the files on his own accord.

He skimmed the list mildly. Some people were insignificant in Izaya’s wake, rarely ever mentioned on the streets. He scoffed. Surely, ‘Orihara Izaya’ was known to just about anyone who had a life in either Ikebukuro or Shinjuku. Surely, ‘Orihara Izaya’ should’ve been one of the first people to go missing, regarding ‘important people.’

They—whoever was behind these abductions—were fools thinking they would be able to execute this plan of theirs while leaving out Izaya. If they were childishly hoping the information broker would sit idle and let everything effectuate without having a hold onto anyone, they were dead _foolish_. Once he figured out the person behind this show, he would start to play his own game.

And his head was filled with these thoughts that intrigued him. The light rain was barely noticeable as it started to fall onto the streets, and people bustled away into cover. Pulling up his hood, he closed the folder as drops started to splatter it. There was seldom any rain in the winter, but Izaya gu–

He then paused and cocked his head. The back of his neck prickled, though it was hidden by his jacket. In his peripheral view, a sleek black sports car came to a gliding stop on the other side of the street and gained his interest. No more cars came down the road.

Curious, he slowly lowered the folder and tucked it into the pocket of his coat, a small smile beginning to spread across his face. The last person on the sidewalk walked into a building for shelter, as the rain started pouring from the clouds. Perfect weather, and not a single witness. There was a sense that he was being watched.

_Ah._ The pawns hadn't forgotten about their king.

He seized the flick knife from his pocket and held the wooden grip securely.

He stood there for a couple seconds, awaiting, but no movement aside for the setting sun and rain. Water soaked through his jacket, and his hair soon plastered to his damp forehead. The seconds dragged on and he was tempted to look behind himself, to see if anyone was coming up after him silently, but didn’t.

He eventually got bored.

Exhaling deeply, he turned to glare at the black car. The windows were tinted, but he could feel the glower emitting from behind them. He extravagantly outstretched his arms, a smirk stretching across his face. “Oh, come on. Am I seriously going to stand here all night waiting for you guys to fin–“

A shadow behind his. He dodged left, knife flicking out of its sheath, gleaming as a bat swung clear over his head. With narrowed eyes, Izaya took in his assailant’s face, unfamiliar and young, committing it to memory.

He didn’t stay put for long, though. By the time the man swung the bat and looked down, confused at how Izaya had dodged it, Izaya took off sprinting down the sidewalk.

He hadn’t initially planned on running, but he also didn’t plan that the men would've wanted to kill him. The man had swung his bat at Izaya’s head with the full intention to kill, not knock out. Now, Izaya wasn’t all too sure their goal was to take him alive. Perhaps someone put a hit out on him.

Several footsteps trailing behind him confirmed more people were on his trail. It didn’t bother him, though—they wouldn’t be able to follow him for long.

The car across the street startled up loudly, its engine roaring, and it took a mere second for it to catch up to Izaya and cruise alongside him.

Izaya pressed harder and the car sped up to match his pace fluidly. Glaring, he tried to see into its midnight windows to no avail. He then glanced behind him and surveyed the people after him instead. They weren’t holding any type of weapons in their hands, except for the bat in the previous man’s hand. Despite not wielding any visible weapons, they didn’t seem all too concerned that Izaya was running from them, instead enjoying themselves, as if they knew he wouldn’t be able to escape them. Izaya gritted his teeth. The unexpected confidence slathered on their faces filled Izaya with a new determination: he would go towards the buildings to lose the car, then stab the confidence out of his pursuers.

The car then hit the curb with a _th-thunk_ and veered onto the sidewalk, almost hitting Izaya’s side had he not skittered away. He drew closer to the buildings, checking every open space he passed by, seeking a clear way out of the car’s path. Each alleyway was either too dark or barricaded by a brick wall. The only free opening was an intersection a block away.

He would have to make it to the intersection to lose them.

The car was coming in at a slant, and soon would cut out his route from going forward. He wouldn't be able to double back, where the men could seize him. He would have to either turn back and fight or try to skid over the car when it came too close and continue fleeing until the intersection.

Right as he was trying to decide what to do, the car suddenly turned in front of Izaya and braked. Again, he almost hit the car, but managed to evade and find his way inside an alleyway the car had blockaded him into. He ran through the dark passage, only to pull up short at a blank cement wall. Looking up, the wall spanned two stories and had no places to grip onto. He scanned the buildings, but they were all brick, no doors or windows. He faced the cement and exhaled deeply. Footsteps resounded behind him.

“How tedious,” he muttered, but couldn’t smother the grin that spread across his face. He would be lying if he said this wasn’t compelling for him. It was riveting. Usually only with Shizu-chan would he have this much fun.

There was someone behind him, and he didn’t hesitate to spin around and unite metal with skin. Rewarded with a cry and dark liquid that dripped from his blade to his hand, he hummed, “Not at all charming.”

He finally raised his eyes upward and accessed the men that were in front of him. The one he had cut retreated back, and there were only four of them in the alley—but Izaya was unsettled when none of them had weapons. No guns pointing towards his face, not even the shimmer of a knife. Were they planning on taking him down with mere hands? _Unless they had something else they were waiting for._

The car blocking the exit had its trunk open. There were several other men lingering around the truck, waiting. There wasn’t much else to see in the gray lighting.

The men in front of him stopped approaching when they were within a couple feet of him. Their gazes flickered over to a man in the middle. He was the same one from earlier, who had the bat. But this time, his hands were in his pockets, empty.

When no one moved, Izaya pressed the hand that wasn’t holding the knife to his face. He wiped away the water freely streaming down his face and into his eyes. “Honestly,” he said, not trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. He removed his hand from his face. “What the hell are you people doing?”

Izaya wasn’t expecting a response, and he didn’t get one. Instead, they all stared at him blankly, which only perturbed him further.

“We don’t have time for idle talk,” someone then said, and past the men in front of him, a single man leaned against the car. “We still need to go nab your _best friend_ as well.”

Izaya narrowed his eyes at the man. He was wearing a fancy suit, but it was too dark to perfectly see the man’s face thus rendering him unrecognizable. “Best friend?” he asked. There wasn’t a response. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Never that,” came a reply. “Though if you die as a result of this, it’s simply just mishandling.”

_Mishandling, hah?_ “So, trying to kill me with a bat was just _’simply mishandling?’"_

“Ah, Orihara-san, all that we really want to do, is just _cool_ you off a little bit.” He snickered loudly, a sound that disgusted Izaya. “I can promise you the city, and its people, will be in _great hands_ once you’re gone.” Izaya opened his mouth to say something else.

Abruptly, one of the men charged forward, and Izaya was able to react in time to hold up his knife to block the black object swung at him. “Didn't your mother teach you to not interrupt people when they're talking?” Izaya spat at him.

A glint from his right caused Izaya to veer out of the way and hit his back against the hard wall. The man who had possessed the bat now had a knife. Izaya couldn’t tell what the black object the other guy had used was. He scowled at the wall; he had backed up against it too much. It would be hard to dodge with a wall pressed against his back.

Another knife brandished. It approached his own and metal met metal harshly. It was much bigger than Izaya’s and the man was stronger, thus slowly his own knife pushed towards his face. Another came up towards his torso, and Izaya brought down his knife and ducked, right as the other knives embedded themselves into the cement.

Izaya saw an opportunity and slipped past the two and away from the wall. He twisted when something shiny flew past his shoulder and accidentally stumbled into someone.

They grasped onto his shoulders and he cursed himself for his carelessness. He flicked back his wrist and the blade came out with a press of a button and rooted itself into the man’s abdomen. He cried out, and Izaya felt a sense of satisfaction as he slipped from the man's grip.

Izaya slipped a second blade into his switchblade. He did a full circle and instead of the wall being against his back, he was completely surrounded. He had thought not being against the wall would’ve been better, but now, he exhaled deeply. So persistent.

A man came towards him from the front, and Izaya went up to meet him. The knife came towards Izaya’s neck, and he was able to parry it effortlessly. The man pressed onto the blade, and Izaya held on strongly. This man wouldn’t be able to overpower Izaya.

He then saw the man’s eyes flicker over his shoulder. Izaya turned his head to dodge whatever was coming from behind him; but a hand came down and something incredibly sharp sunk into his left arm that was holding his knife tightly.

The knife came out of his arm as Izaya jerked away and backed away from the two. He looked down at his arm, but there was only a small bead of blood on his upper arm, though it hurt considerably. He looked up, puzzled, and instead of a knife in the former-bat-wielding-man’s hand, was a large _syringe needle_ that glinted in the light. Izaya looked at the man, bewildered, and he simply smirked. His switchblade slipped from his wet hand covered in blood that wasn't his, and clattered to the floor. He looked down at his hand. He didn’t feel it fall. It dangled by his side—absolutely numb.

“Yo–” There was a shadow over his face, but it was too late for him to react. Something heavy struck the back of his head, and a feeling of weightlessness enveloped him as he fell onto the floor. His vision blurred and his eyes closed, but he fought against it and forcibly fluttered his eyes open.

A bat fell to the floor next to him. His knife was right in front of his left arm. He tried with every ounce in him, but anything below his shoulder wouldn’t cooperate and laid lifeless against the dirt and bloodied concrete. They injected him with some type of paralyzer.

He tried to raise himself off the ground with his stable arm but collapsed as his head began sending stabs of agony that radiated and made his limbs weak and shaky. He glared darkly at the men that were now standing near the black car. The rain was now a gentle drizzle and eased down the violence from his head to a vivid color against the dull ground. His blood pooled around him.

He was able to blearily observe as the man in the fancy suit covered his face with something, took out a bottle of liquid from the trunk and doused a piece of cloth in it. He then approached Izaya, rag dripping. He was wearing a surgical mask.

Izaya smirked up at him.

He knelt and grabbed onto Izaya’s head roughly, and Izaya bit onto his lip as he felt another wave of pain rack his body. Nonetheless, the grin stayed on his face, spreading from cheek to cheek. He even managed a sick sounding laugh, that sounded cruel even to his own ears. This revoked an unsettled look from the man, which gave Izaya’s confidence a boost.

The strong smell of something too sweet filled the air and stung his nose. “Chloroform?” Izaya toyed, his voice not wavering despite the throbbing in his head. “How cliché. _I’m disappointed.”_

With a sound like a chuckle, the cloth was shoved onto his face. It covered both his nose and mouth and Izaya held his breath indignantly, his eyes flashing daggers and seething. He willed his arm to move, to snatch up his knife, tear the cloth off his face and fight back. His arm didn’t even acknowledge him with the slightest of budges.

His dark eyes scrutinized Izaya, before the edges of his eyes crinkled in an apparent grin. Izaya glared blackly. His chest squeezed as the smell wafted into his nose, but he refused to let it go down into his lungs. He would force himself to pass out before allowing the drug to render him unconscious for who knew how long as they did whatever they pleased with him.

The man sighed, the mask shifting outwards. “So stubborn.” His fingers twisted into the pounding spot on the back of Izaya’s head, and it felt as if he had taken several needles and jabbed them into the back of his head. He unintentionally gasped, then his lungs betrayed him and drew in a long, choking breath.

"Breathe, Orihara. You’ll feel better after you rest.”

###    
_Shizuo_

Shizuo Heiwajima just wanted to go see his brother’s new movie.

He didn’t ask for the premiere time to change, causing him to run about twenty minutes late. He didn’t ask for it to start pouring as he was walking down the street, soaking him and his clothes. And he _definitely_ didn’t ask to get a damn hammer thrown at the back of his head and cause him to start bleeding all over the place.

But he did ask the man who threw it at him to stop running so he could properly smash in his face and see how he liked it.

Shizuo promised Kasuka days before that he would go meet him to watch the first showing of his movie that came out today. Called ‘Mysticis,’ it was about a Fortune teller or something, he wasn’t too sure. He just knew Kasuka was in it, so it must be great. Shizuo hadn’t seen his brother in a long while, and he had even gone out to buy him a nice present. He was in a pretty cheerful mood.

But now that mood was ruined, as he stood, panting, at the entrance of an alleyway. Blood and rain mixed together on the floor below him, fists clenched. The alley was narrow and dead-ended, the only illumination the street lights shining from behind him.

“Come out, now,” Shizuo said, stalking deeper into the passage. “I know you’re in here. If you come out, I’ll only hurt you just a little bit.”

The only response was the rain splattering onto the ground. This pissed Shizuo off further.

“I don’t have time for this,” Shizuo growled under his breath, standing there for a second longer and steeling his emotion. He took out his phone and checked the time. It would still take about ten minutes to get there—if he managed to arrive in fifteen minutes, then he wouldn’t miss the start of the movie. Kasuka was waiting for him.

He was wiping away the drops on his screen and trying to text Kasuka when he heard someone step behind him. Turning around and putting away his phone, there was a regular looking guy, no one familiar. He was wearing all black, and one of his hands was behind his back in a lame attempt to hide something. Shizuo assumed that this was the man who hit him with the hammer, but if it wasn’t, Shizuo didn’t care.

He narrowed his eyes at the person, and they didn’t move, so he glanced around and noticed a garbage dumpster at his right. It wasn’t too disgusting and looked relatively empty, and he walked over to it. He grunted as he hefted it up, and in the corner of his eye, the man looked confused.

He grinned and hauled the garbage dumpster, and the man scrambled away, barely clearing out of the way. When the dumpster hit the ground, it clanged, and the clamorous noise echoed out of the alley.

The man looked at him with a stunned expression, and the grin on Shizuo’s face grew wider. He slowly began approaching him. “If you seriously thought you could try to kill me, and I wouldn’t try to kill you right back, then you’re just _stupid_.”

The man then held up a bat, prepared to defend himself. _He really is stupid._

He swung it at Shizuo, and he blocked the bat with his arm. It thudded hardly but didn’t jostle him at all. He grabbed onto the bat as the man went to pull it back and snatched it from his grasp. Seizing the man’s shoulder, he raised the bat over his head, ready to swing.

“Don’t move Heiwajima-san, or I’ll shoot you!”

Shizuo froze. In the mouth of the alley, was someone in a fancy suit standing meters away, with a black gun that glinted in the setting sun and sprinkling rain. Shizuo glowered at him.

“Put the bat down and let him go.” There was a light surgical mask around his face.

Shizuo didn’t even budge, not making a move to put the bat down or let go of the man. He honestly didn't care if he was shot. It wouldn't hurt too much, and he could always just go to Shinra afterward to fix him up.

“Surely, even _you_ can’t survive a bullet to the head.”

When Shizuo narrowed his eyes, the suit guy raised his eyebrows expectantly, which caused him to grit his teeth. A shot to the head? He'd never been shot in the head before. Shizuo weighed his options, though the choice was obvious, he wasn't dumb. He didn’t want to be shot, but he certainly wanted to beat his ass.

After a moment, he let go of the man and pushed him softly, and he fell and slammed against the floor. The bat was then dropped on top of him.

“Good thinking, Heiwajima-san.”

“ _Shut_ the hell up.” Shizuo scoffed, his fists clenching and unclenching, struggling to maintain himself. There was a gun aimed at him. He wouldn’t let his body control him; he would control his body. “Did Izaya send you?” he growled.

The man seemingly chuckled. “No.”

Shizuo slit his eyes. He studied the man, from the odd mask to his hands to his shoes.

He saw it, the hands that wrapped around the gun. Rain streamed off them, but what collected on the sidewalk wasn’t water. Diluted red carried onto the concrete, staining the stone there. And if Shizuo really looked, he could see the blood splattered and smeared on his hands.

_Murderers?_

Shizuo’s anger sizzled in his chest, his adrenaline spiking. If this man was a murderer, the surgical mask made sense, but was he trying to kill Shizuo? _Had he just finished killing someone else?_

It seemed so. The blood hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere.

Shizuo was pissed. He knew he had to be careful—he wasn’t surrounded by lowlifes like usual, but fuck trying to control himself now. These people thrived and lived in violence. They deserved whatever Shizuo would unleash onto them.

The man started to lower the gun and Shizuo thought fast. He wanted to resolve this, and it would need to be quick and final. If Shizuo stayed and talked, he would just be wasting time, and something bad would occur like often with Izaya.

The gun was still pointing at him. He would need some sort of cover for an instant.

The man who had the bat made the mistake of staying too near. Shizuo reached out and grabbed the man, putting him in front of himself.

He wasn't expecting the gun to fire, much less at his own man. But the suit guy did, and the sound reverberated throughout the alleyway, Shizuo recoiling as the man jerked back and shook. Steam wafted from the gun. Utterly horrified, Shizuo let go of the man and they collapsed into a limp pile on the ground.

Shizuo stared, wide-eyed, and his stupor cost him. A stab came from his back, and he whipped around and swung his fist. It met someone's face, and they flew before hitting the stone wall with a sickening _crunch._

He reached behind his back, dislodging the embedded knife and letting it clatter to the ground. When he turned back around, several other people were walking from the mouth of the alley. Shizuo glared at the man with the gun, which now hung by his side. He didn’t seem fazed at all.

That caused his chest to boil with anger and pure disgust; enough that when one rushed him with a knife, he didn’t even bother to dodge. He grabbed onto the knife, and it shattered in his hand.

Shizuo dusted the metal from his hands. The man backed away, and Shizuo accessed the other men. There were only five of them. They all had gleaming objects in their hands. No matter.

Two ran towards him, and he evaded multiple thrusts aimed at him. One went over his shoulder, the other over his head, and Shizuo reached forward and grabbed both before flinging them out of the way. The remaining three came to him at once, and he kicked the feet out from one, dodged another, but one managed to stab him in his arm. The man held the knife there and Shizuo felt pressure before he backed up. He went to rip the knife out his arm.

Out pulled a large syringe needle that dripped both his blood and a clear liquid. It was half-filled with this substance, and he dropped it onto the ground.

Grimacing, he grew disoriented. He glanced at the ground for the knife he had pulled from his back, but there was another needle, splattered with his blood. That one was empty. The disorient morphed into mortification. _“Shit...”_

Shizuo looked up to see the men steadily recovering, already assembling around him. Their weariness was evident in their faces, but also their determination.

Shizuo didn’t know how to grasp this. Were they trying to poison him? Did they already poison him? What the fuck was in the needles? Drugs?

He didn’t feel weird. The only thing coursing through his body was the unmistakable anger that simmered in his veins.

He needed to go. _Right now._ It wasn’t just because he was ‘late’—a petty thing, he now realized—but because something very wrong was going on here. He needed to leave.

The men blocked the exit, along with a black car that was waiting there, idly. The buildings were tall and sprawling. There was an emergency ladder about ten feet higher than him, and to reach it, he would need to jump off someth–

He sidestepped as one man came forward, Shizuo elbowing him hard in the back so he fell, slipping on the slick floor. Three more advanced, and a simple dodge, punch, kick, he knocked them down.

“This is getting annoying!” Shizuo snapped and turned to face the man in the suit. He didn’t seem concerned. _Oh,_ but Shizuo would make him concerned, by breaking several of his bones and leaving him to rot on the wet ground. The man had probably done that to several others if he really was a murderer. Shizuo advanced upon him.

Behind Shizuo, none of the men were left standing. _Too easy, you damn scum._

And Shizuo was within a yard of the man, ready to punch him. Then, perhaps hit him over the head with the nearest thing. It didn’t have to be a hammer. The dumpster a couple feet away would be perfectly fine to drop over his head.

Shizuo reached forward and gripped onto the guy’s suit, ready to say something when he then muttered, “Behind you.”

He didn't process this at first, but when he did, a sharp tearing sound came from behind him. The pain didn’t register initially, only the sound of his clothes ripping, until pain flared from his back. He spun around, and one, two, three stings, needles embedded into his chest. One, two, three men then slammed into walls, their bodies crumpling to the ground.

Shizuo tried to pull out the needles from his chest. He had to pull much harder than he expected to dislodge them. His arm was weak, growing numb. He moved his fingers but barely felt them.

A machete drenched in a pile of both his blood and rain lay a few feet away.

Shizuo turned around and managed a wry grin. “You know, I’ve been going _really_ easy on you. But this is it. _I’m going to fucking kill you!”_

Shizuo started, took one step, then another, and his legs gave out on him.

His knees thudded onto the ground, droplets splashing up from their rest on the concrete. Trying to stand up, he succeeded, only to fall back down again. His legs wouldn’t cooperate.

The man walked up to Shizuo and raised the gun. Growling, he went to move his arm, but it didn’t comply. He looked down at his chest, where the needles were implanted.

They must’ve been some type of tranquilizer? …Sedative?

It didn’t matter now. Shizuo strained, snarling at the man. Suit guy smiled in response, the gun not wavering. _No, shit–Fuck, FUCK!_

Shizuo wouldn't be able to act out before the gun resounded loudly.

Everything in him flinched, and he shut his eyes.

He didn’t feel the shot at first. The unfeeling was already spreading from his chest, but he expected the sharp, almost searing pain that came along with a gunshot. It didn’t arrive, not even a pinch of pain.

He opened his eyes, the suited man chuckling and walking away. The gun was laying on the floor, smoking.

He assessed himself silently, in disbelief and hope mingled. Rain kept getting in his eyes, and he blinked it away. There was no shot wound on him, no blood seeping from anywhere. The only red was at the top of his collar, where the blood from his head had leaked. His clothes were drenched.

He stared at the gun. It was fake?

He would’ve reached forward to grab it, had his arms not been listless.

“The gun wasn’t loaded, Heiwajima-san.” The man called from the front of the alley, where the car was parked. “I loaded it with gunpowder. Put on a really good show, didn’t it?”

Shizuo stared, then bared his teeth, trying once again to stand up. It didn’t work, goddammit, his legs wouldn’t work. Fuck, why, _why?_ Goddammit, shit, shit, _shit, shit, shit..._

He couldn’t feel anything farther than his chest, where the needles had been. His right arm was lifeless, and his left arm was barely alive. His whole backside was also numb, where the first needle had been stuck at.

He set his jaw and forced every muscle in him to move. His legs twitched but wouldn’t comply. He tried so hard, he growled between clenched teeth. Sweat and rain beaded down his face. It wasn’t raining too much anymore, but he still felt the wetness all over him, combining with his blood. And below the surface of his skin, the toxin that was flowing freely prohibited him from moving.

The man soon made a full circle, approaching him again. He huffed, trying to strain out of the hold the poison had on him.

Shizuo was hot. He panted but couldn’t feel his chest rise. His struggle to move had drained him of his air and left his chest gasping.

The suit guy sauntered up to him, and Shizuo gave him the worst glare he could manage. Suit guy hesitated at that look, before getting down on his knees. The stupid surgical mask was still around his face, hiding his features. It was impossible to tell who he was, the sun much too low now.

In his hand was a rag. Shizuo’s chest felt tight.

The man studied him for a moment, before tilting his head. He raised his hand with the rag on it, and a grin suddenly appeared on Shizuo’s face. "If you do some fucked up shit to me, I swear, I'm going to fucking kill you. I'm going to fucking kill you! _I'm going to fucking kill you!"_ Shizuo didn't comprehend what he was saying, but frankly, he didn't care. As he kept talking, the man looked a bit perturbed for a moment.

He then recovered after Shizuo faltered, gripping onto Shizuo’s damp bangs. He jerked his head away, but as he shook and tried to get those disgusting hands off, the rag was forced onto his face. Shizuo gagged as the sickly-sweet smell burned his throat.

He breathed heavily, each escaping as a wheeze. The fumes from the rag started suffocating him more than he already was.

He flinched away as the man slid a finger across Shizuo's forehead, growling lowly.

The man chuckled dryly. “You’re sweating quite a lot. Have I really made you so worked up?”

Shizuo bit onto the rag, ripping it open with his teeth, and the clean, mildewy air soothed his throat. The man then tried to cover it back up, but Shizuo tore onto his finger, and in response, he punched Shizuo on the side of his face.

Shizuo didn’t even budge, though closing his eyes. The rag readjusted within that moment. He would’ve tried to tear it a second time, had the chemicals not burned his tongue and mouth, making him recoil at the vile taste.

And he sat there, continuously panting and breathing in those fumes, while locking in a glowering contest with the man.

It wasn't long before Shizuo’s vision began to unfocus, the chemicals taking over his weary mind. His limbs grew heavy.

“Are you hot, Heiwajima-san?”

Shizuo mustered a harsh glare through closing eyelids. His body refused to fight it anymore, and the sleep lulled him away from reality.

“If you are, there's no worry. You’ll be somewhere very cold soon.”

Shizuo fell unconscious and wouldn’t awaken until two days later.


End file.
